A digest for conscious living
I have not yet meditated today, as I was out late with a friend last night and we had some friends over for brunch this morning. I will however try to complete my practice this evening.
I know now that I am I slowly starting to untangle the habitual threads of thought that weave the tapestry of my identity in my mind. A statement like this might seem to the ordinary mind like something negative or downright frightening. After all, on a certain level, most of us equate the loss of identity with death. In this context however, it is a very positive statement indeed.
The identity that I refer to above is the illusory identity- my story. This epic, that has been created by my ego mind casting me in the role of the main character, is a futile attempt to lend some sort of coherence to the overwhelming experience of being alive. It is this character that my small mind believes me to be, with all my perceived past and all my projected future- so much baggage, so much expectation. It is also the mechanism through which suffering is made possible. Without a past and a future, I am left with only the present moment. In this moment there can be pain, but not suffering. Suffering occurs only as a result of dwelling in the past or in the future. The capacity to disregard my identity, leaves me with Beginner’s Mind- full of joy, wonder, and curiosity.
It seems so clear to me now, particularly when I hear other people talking about their problems and I see the pain in their faces, that they are believeing their story. Its like crying over a sad movie. I have become emotionally involved with a story and my emotions have begun to reflect this story. The story of my life that my mind creates for me is no less fictional than the story in the movie theater. It is my mind combing through the infinite amount of sensory data to which I have been exposed and emotional responses which I have generated during my lifetime and filtering it in order to create a coherent story. Its just poor little small mind trying to make sense of it all.
It is this identity however, which prevents me from seeing myself in my entirety. It hinders me from experiencing the present moment and myself as two inseperable parts which together create the phenomenon that it is existence. It is the perpetual inner narrative, which if believed, acts as an anchor between me and small mind. Unless this anchor is to a large degree disengaged, it will keep me harbored in the bay of habitual thought and action that I already know so well.
That wont do; Im searching for the shores of a new world, beyond the horizon and across this vast ocean…
Goodnight,
Kikta